


The Criminal's Rent

by River_Exit318



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 90's Music, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Band Fic, Inspired by Music, Jazz Age, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2018-12-15 22:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_Exit318/pseuds/River_Exit318
Summary: In which Keith makes a drunken bet to win over the hot pianist. It's a bad idea, but he needs to pay rent.





	1. The Bet

**Songs for the Chapter~**

**Fly Me To the Moon by Frank Sinatra**

Keith downs his second shot in one swift wrist movement, slamming it back onto the table once he was finished. He gives a gesture to the ginger haired bartender to bring him another one, and after a stern look and being mouthed that this was his last one, his request is fulfilled.

     "Dude," Nyma interjects after the third shot is set onto the table. "I know you're hurting, but isn't this pushing it a bit far?" She eyes the glass as it comes closer to the man's   mouth. He looks at her defiantly as he bottoms up and slightly regrets it when the brown liquid burns his throat uncomfortably.

     "I hope it kills me," he says as he sets the petite glass back down on the table.

     "Okay, you're taking this too far. Rolo was practically _abusive._ You're lucky you got out of that relationship." She lifts her cocktail to her lips, taking a sly sip, which contrasts greatly to Kieth's all in one go drinking.

     "He wasn't abusive. All of that stuff was my fault." Nyma scoffs, but takes another sip. Keith attempts to come up with something to counter her attitude, but his fuzzy brain isn't helping. He stares at the cork board on the wall behind all the alcohol, where pictures of frequent customers are pinned with tacks following a certain color scheme that matches the rest of the bar. That's the kind of things that go on at Atomic Altea; artsy photos of customers, local bands playing jazz in the background, that whole scene. It really was a cozy place, and a lot of people came here in refuge of the rest of the real world. Keith half smiles as his eyes trail along the many people that the owners took time to photograph specifically for the memories that they shared whenever they came in. His eyes land on a certain picture, though, and his smile falls. "What am I going to do without him, Nyma?" He frantically wipes away on oncoming tear that threatens to fall with the palm of his hand. Despite his efforts, more come, and he's over ruled. "How am I going to live without him?"

     "Aw, honey," Nyma says, taking his head into her hands and pressing him underneath her chin. "It's going to be okay. Just think about it- in a few months, boys will be crawling at your feet."

     "A few months?" Kieth teases, lifting his head from her hold. Nyma giggles.

     "You don't expect to get a boyfriend in this state, do you?" 

     Kieth's back straightens in defense. "I could get any guy I want."

     "You just inhaled three shots of scotch and then cried about how you'll never move on from your abusive ex." She takes another sip from her cocktail, almost smugly closing her eyes.

     "He wasn't abusive!" Kieth slams his hand on the table, the vibrations knocking over the shot glass. 

     The entire bar goes quiet for a second, the only sounds an instrumental version of what seems to be "Fly Me To the Moon" by Frank Sinatra being played by the current band on stage. Kieth shrinks down, desperate to get out of all the attention, but at the same time, unwilling to let go of his stubbornness and pride. " _I could get any guy I wanted,_ " Kieth whispers once the volume of the cafe returns to normal. " _Anyone in this_ bar, _even."_

     "Oh, really?" Nyma says, twirling the tiny umbrella in her brightly colored drink. "Even the pianist up there?" She nods her head back at the stage behind her, gesturing to some guy she must have scoped out earlier. Keith lifts his gaze, eying the brunet despite his blurry vision. Didn't seem like that much of a big whoop.

     "Yes." Kieth answers firmly, though he feels she's planning something in that blonde head of hers.

     "In 6 weeks," she pushes.

     "Yes," he says slightly less surely.

     She leans forward, squinting her eyes in challenge and determination.

     "Bet."

     This, ladies and gentlemen, is where Kieth's life takes a massive turn. If he had done anything other than what he is about to do right now, he would have gone on a completely different path, and this story quite possibly could have never happened.

     "$30"

     "$300"

     "$60"

     "$400"

     "$250"

     "Deal."

     As they clasp hands and give each other a hardy shake, the drummer of the band on stage comes up to the unoccupied microphone, giving a small PSA.

     "Hey guys, our singer recently quit on us, and we need a temporary replacement. Any volunteers can come see us behind stage to work out the logistics. See you tomorrow." He looks almost disappointed when no one immediately volunteers, but instead the drunken members of the bar give an unenthusiastic applause to their work and the four members single file back stage with empty hands.

    "May your seduction skills befriend you," she advises quietly.

     She sets down her drink, and smirks.

 


	2. The Hangover Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith realizes he made a big mistake. Well, he can't go back now.

**Songs for this Chapter~**

**While My Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles**

Keith wakes up with an odd taste in his mouth. At first he thinks it's just morning breath, and he contently settles back into the warm comforter and sheets. As his mind begins to drift back into unconsciousness, he catches a glance at the peculiar receipt on his night stand. He wonders where the receipt might have come from, until he remembers.

     He bolts upright in his bed, memories of the past night flooding in and making him realize what a complete idiot he is. With all those memories, a massive headache comes in as well.

     The bartender, the picture, the band... the bet.

     Holy shit, the bet.

     Keith scrambles out of bed, the jeans he had worn the earlier night making it difficult to move quickly. He grips the receipt a little too harshly, the thin paper crinkling underneath his clasp. He attempts to read everything that he had paid for, but the print is too fine and his head hurts to much that he can't make out but a few words. He slams the receipt back on the table, standing up and wobbling his way to the bathroom.

     He first tries to brush his teeth, hating the rancid taste that lingers on his tongue. He is too unfocused though, and he can't manage to get the toothpaste onto the right parts of the toothbrush. Realizing his defeat after a few more failures, he opens the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, and grasps a a bottle of Advil. He shakes a few out and takes them dry, the casing tasting sweet as he swallows them.

     He turns on the faucet and cups water in is hands before dumping it on his face. He stares at the sink for a while, letting the water drip from his face into the bowl to travel quickly into the drain droplet by droplet. Then he turns his attention up at his reflection, his violet eyes not holding the same glimmer they used to, when he was happier. He looks empty without that glimmer, with only dark pupils that hold close to no emotion. He hasn't felt a lot of anything except sadness for a long time.

    He remembers himself only months ago, laughing, kissing, having that glimmer. When he was happy.

    He looks at himself now, his hair wet, softly dripping water onto his already wet cheek, his eyes dead.

    When did everything go wrong? What did Keith do _wrong?_

   As if he doesn't know. Keith wasn't good enough, strong enough, quick enough. He wasn't enough. As if he could forget after how many time he was told that. Why didn't he just listen? Why didn't he do what he was told? Why couldn't he have just been enough for Rolo?

    He needs to leave. He needs to get out of this suffocating apartment. He can't just sit here and watch his life crumble at his feet. He needs to get out.

    Keith rushes to the door, turning the knob harshly as he fights to get out as quickly as possible. He shuts the door loudly as soon as he's behind it and turns around to lock the door, ( the last this Keith needs is to be robbed of the doubtfully valuable things he owns. ) He looks up, red catching in the corner of his eye. He wishes he hadn't, though, when he sees that it is yet another overdue rent notice from his bitchy landlord.

    He skims it, reading the same words he had been for a week or so, until one word pops out at him.

    "eviction"

    Oh shit.

    "If amount due is not paid in full by 12/17/1999, tenant will be subject to eviction by the court, law, and enforcement of Scranton County, New York."

    Damn it, he can't deal with this right now. On the other hand, he really can't get evicted. He has some money stored up from when Rolo left, which might cover this payment, but Keith needs to get a job. He'll handle it while he's out today.

    He rips the paper off the door and crumbles it up to fit in his pocket. He reaches int the other one to get his keys, only to find that they aren't there. He stumbles back into his apartment and scans the bedroom that was for two people. His eyes search the bookshelf, desk, and potted plant before landing on the nightstand, where they now lay.

    He walks over and picks them off the table, swinging them around his thumb as he turns to leave again, in a slightly less of a rush as before. He stops, though, when he notices the back of the receipt from the last night, scrawled on in thin pen but neat handwriting.

    "6 weeks - $250

     No backing out, I have rent to pay, honey

     Love, Nyma"

     And, as if mocking his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad situation, a single smiley face adorns the grim reminder.

     :)

~

The bar smelled like fruit and tequila, which was probably thanks to the group of sorority sisters gossiping as they drink Cosmic Camille's, a drink Keith had never heard before, but apparently the bartender knew what to do to make them happy. At first it seemed weird to Keith that someone was drinking so early in the morning, until the bartender, ( his name is Coran, Keith learned, ) informed him that it was 3:26pm, and that they came in every week.

     "That seems really unhealthy," Keith answers, having nothing better to do but keep the conversation going.

     "If I remember correctly, you had 4 shots of pure scotch while getting over a break up." Coran countered, raising an eye brow as he cleaned a glass.

     "How-"

     "Your blonde friend likes to talk."

     Keith, though agreeing, turns away because he doesn't want to get into his problems with some bartender that he just met. He isn't that pathetic.

     As if knowing his need for a distraction, the band from last night enters the stage then. Keith notices the pianist first, the reason he's here in the first place. He watches him walk to the piano, a sort of tired swagger with every step. When he sits down, Keith begins to survey the other members, and realizes he's doing this bet with some kind of strategy, which makes him feel a lot better about the entire situation.

     The drummer sits down next, a very tall dude that overheads everyone even when he sits down. He looks very serious, and also like he could kill Keith with a swig of his hand, so Keith makes a note not to get on his bad side. That is, until the music starts, a very soft beat comes from the drum in the middle to start the song off, and the guy looks so peaceful that he couldn't hurt a fly at that time. Keith is confused by this, at how someone could have two sides to them by just changing what they're doing, and ow quickly the transition could happen. Rolo was always the same almost 100% of the time, and the same goes for Nyma. Keith didn't know pretty much anyone else, but he was sure that the same goes for them. This guy needed to be kept an eye on.

     The next person to play is the bassist, a pretty small dude with perfectly circular shades on. He plucked at the strings like it was no one's business, like he knew exactly what he was doing. He seemed to not have a care in the world, even though it seemed that this was his job. How could this guy be so aloof? How could he not see that if he messed up even once, he would mess up the entire song? How could he not be constantly worrying about that? How is he able to let all that go? He was questionable, and probably hiding something. The most cocky baseball players are the ones on steroids. Keith knew that from experience.

     A tangy note plays out, long and sweet, and Keith's eyes flick to the violin player. The dude was ripped, his entire body betraying the ideal that he was a violin player. His strong hand held the bow so daintily, and his muscly shoulder holds the violin and his broad chin keeps it in place. This guy defies all stereotypes, and Keith finds himself respecting the man for that. Maybe he should look for an alley in him.

     Finally, a melody starts to play on the piano, and Keith looks to the man he needs to rely on to win this bet. The band begins to follow along with him, the jazzy tune turning into more of a song, though unrecognizable by Keith. Jazz isn't really his thing. He actually takes more of a look at the guy then he did the other night, and Keith's faith falls.

     This guy is hot.

     Extremely-out-of Keith's-league kind of hot. How is he supposed to get this dude to like him? How is he going to win this bet? He is going to lose to Nyma, pass the due date for his rent, and get evicted. He'll be homeless and he'll have to beg on the streets to pay for a sandwich. His entire life is going to go straight down the drain because of this stupid bet that his stupid drunk ass made. Why did he agree to this in the first place? This is the worst decision he has made in a very, very long time. He should've just said no, why didn't he say no? He knew that Nyma was a witch with gambling, and he still went along with it because he is such a stupid stupid human being why the hell does he do this he just ruins his life because he doesn't know how to no wonder Rolo left him-

     "Keith?"

     Keith's head snaps up at the sound of his name. He stares at the worried bartender for a while, not knowing what to say.

     "That was your name, wasn't it?"

     Keith only nods, staring blankly, with what is probably his dead, dark eyes, that Coran is getting creeped out by. Keith looks away.

     "Are you okay, my boy?"

     Keith nods, now staring at the ground. The ground can't judge you.

     "Okay then.."

     Clapping makes Keith look up, but instead at the stage. The band members head towards the back of the stage, behind the curtain, where there appears to be a door. Keith's eyes catch on the pianist, but then switch to the drummer who walks up to the microphone that Keith realizes was never used.

     "Hey guys- I uh, wanted to let everyone know once again that we're looking for a new singer for our band, because our last one bailed." He looks to the ground, obviously uncomfortable, perhaps even timid. He changes too much, it confuses Keith. "So if you want to, y'know, audition, come talk to us. Thanks." He turns away and sulks behind the curtain heavy-hearted.

     Keith gets an idea.

     He hops up, only to it back down. He turns to Coran, feeling a little embarrassed, but more relieved, which overrules. "What does he mean by 'come see us', exactly?" He asks, having realized he doesn't know where to go.

     The bartender looks up from making a cocktail, (most likely for the sorority table,) giving Keith a confused look. "Who?"

    "The guy who just gave an announcement on stage? The drummer?" Keith continues when Coran still doesn't recollect.

     "Oh," Coran says, after finally recognizing who Keith was talking about. "You mean Hunk. Not many people ask about the band members anymore." He leans in, his eyes darting from side to side to check if anyone was listening. "If you ask me," he whispers, "they've been going kind of down hill since Allura left."

    "Oh," Keith says quietly, wondering why "Allura" was so important to the success of this band. "Well, I want to try out to be their new, uh, singer."

    "Splendid! Right now, they're probably in the Mojito room. It's the door on the left next to the stage."

    "The what room?"

    "That doesn't matter. Go!" Coran says, almost spilling the cocktail he had just prepared while flailing his arms around in excitement. 

    Keith does as he's told, making his way towards the door he can kind of make out in his wonky vision. He stumbles up to the door, realizing this is how most people die in horror movies. He takes his chances and turns the knob, hearing small conversation as the bolt clicks out of place. As the door opens, the entire room goes silent, and Keith realizes he probably should have knocked.  

     The band lounges around the room, they're instruments carefully discarded beside them, aside from the piano and the drum set. Jazz posters litter the walls of the room, and a door on the back wall gives off the only natural light through the cracks between it and the floor. They all lay in casual poses on the couches and chairs in the room, only excluding the violinist, who is rubbing some kind of block on his bow. They all turn to him when he enters, and suddenly Keith seems extremely out of place. 

     "I.. I'm Keith.... and I'm here to sing?" He asked warily, not wanting to upset any of them, and especially not the pianist. At the sound of his words, the drummer excitedly stands up, stretching out his arms as if to hug Keith. He flinches, not ready for contact, only to straighten himself when he realizes that it was never going to come.

     "You're going to be our singer? I didn't think anyone would volunteer!" The burly man says, a smile so wide it should break his face spreading across his cheeks. Keith can't remember the last time he smiled like that. Just being around this guy makes him feel like he should. This doesn't seem like the same person on stage, shy and embarrassed. It made Keith wary how much this dude's attitude changed.

     "Hey, hey, hey," the pianist says, standing up and putting his hands up to stop his band member from rushing ahead. "He can't just show up and get the spot. How do we even know this guy is good?"

     "Lance is right," the bassist supports. "He should try out first."

     "Try out?" Keith asks, realizing that this gig would require actually singing in front of people, and he hadn't done that since Catholic school choir.

     "Like audition?" The bassist clarifies before turning to the violinist and whispering, "Does he not know what 'try out' means?"

     "I can hear you," Keith says angrily. Maybe this wasn't going to work out so well after all.

     "Do you know anything you can sing? Like, right now?" The drummer says, coming super close to Keith, making the smaller man step away from him for the second time that day. Is he always this in-your-face? At least that would be a constant.

     "Um.." Keith stutters. He really wasn't prepared for this. There was that song that his dad really liked, and used to play all the time. It reminded Keith of his childhood, and would think about it whenever he got really stressed. It was old, and Keith couldn't remember the name of it, but he smiles as he reminisces. Car rides with his father were always accompanied by that song, and the long road trips sometimes had it several times.

     Keith imagines the intro, filled with fast piano, a steady beat, and guitar. " _I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping..._ " He starts, memories flooding his mind. " _While my guitar gently weeps. I look at the floor, and I see it needs sweeping... still my guitar gently weeps._ " Keith can hear the guitar riff in the back of his mind, the drum slowly beating to go along with his voice. " _I don't know why... no body told you, how to unfold your love. I don't know how, someone controlled you. They bought and so-old you._ "

     "Ooh," the drummer awes, picking up his sticks and starting to beat on the table. It sounds duller and less like the drum in the song than Kieth remembers, but it went along with the beat perfectly. Keith shoots him a smile as the bassist goes to the storage closet that Keith didn't notice was there and digs around.

     " _I look at the world and I notice it's turning... while my guitar gently weeps...._ " The bassist returns with an electric guitar and plays out the same riff Keith recognizes from his dad's car radio. " _With e_ _very mistake we must surely be learning, while my guitar gently weeps._ " The bassist plays the guitar solo somewhat wobbly but still well. The violinist pulls out a tambourine from seemingly nowhere.

      " _I don't know how you were diverted..._ " Keith continues. " _You were perverted too._ " The bassist lets out a whoop with that verse. " _I don't know how you were inverted. No one alerted you. I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping... while my guitar gently weeps._ "

      " _Look at you all..._ " Tambourine  boy goes crazy. " _Still my guitar gently weeps.._ "

     With one last beat from the drummer on the coffee table, the song ends and Keith realizes he's worn out just from the exertion of the entire event. Then he realizes that he's smiling, and he can't stop.

     "Just as good as Eric Clapton, huh?" the bassist says, nudging the violinist with his elbow as he sets the guitar on the couch.

     "Is that the guy who wrote this?" Keith says, excited to find out who his dad liked so much.

     "What? No. He just did the guitar," the drummer chimes in. "Good ol' Slowhand."

     "Nah, the Beatles made that," the bassist says.

     "Yeah, that was great woo-hoo, clap clap now serious stuff," the pianist says, standing up and walking towards Keith, a look in his eyes like a leopard about to strike it's prey. Keith grasps the hem of his shirt nervously. "That wasn't jazz."

     "Seriously, Lance?" the bassist shouts, his fists clenched. "You're going to kick him out for that? Did you _hear_ his voice?"

     "We're a _jazz band,_ Pidge." He turns his attention back to Keith, making him scrunch up his face. "Do you even know any jazz songs?"

     "Uh.."

     "Jazz artists?"

     "I-"

     "Who's Nancy Sinatra?"

     "Um... Frank Sinatra's sister?" That's how it was with Michael Jackson and Janet Jackson, so the same rules apply, probably.

     "Oh, Jesus."

     "Lance, he's hungover. How do you expect him to answer those kinds of questions when half his brain is mush?" The bassist defends him, which Keith should be thankful for.

     "You can tell I'm hungover?" Keith asks, thinking he had pulled it off well enough.

     "Wait-" the drummer asks, sounding like he was about to burst out laughing. "You thought we didn't notice?"

     "The Hangover Effect," the brunette reminds him.

      "The what?" Keith asks, confused by pretty much everything right now. He just wants to run away, and not deal with any of this right now. It's too much, and he feels like he's going to scream if everything doesn't calm down. _I look at you all, see the love there that's..._

Keith feels a hand grasp his shoulder, but not harshly. Keith looks up to see the violinist giving him a soothing stare. "I can see you're stressed out right now. My name is Takashi, but people call me Shiro for short. The makeshift Eric Clapton is called Pidge." Keith looks towards Shiro's gesture to see the bassist giving him a smirk and a peace sign. "Our drummer is Hunk, and our pianist is Lance. As you probably know, we are a jazz band that plays for Atomic Altea. We... don't really have a name yet."

     "Though I suggest hundreds of them!" Lance huffs.

     "What you just sang was probably the best performance I have seen in quite some time. The Hangover Effect is a theory we made up a long time ago, which basically states that when you are hungover you think that no one will figure it out, but they always do because of obvious reasons. I think that when you are sober, you will sing even better, and thus you should be a part of our band." Shiro continues, and things start to make sense in Keith's mind. He calms down, and takes a few deep breathes.

     "I supposed we could _teach_ him some jazz songs," Lance admits, a smile creeping to his lips. "You are pretty good at singing."

     This comment makes heat rise to Keith's face, and he desperately hopes that it's not as noticeable as usual. However, when his gaze shifts to Pidge watching from behind Lance, he displays a quick smirk in Keith's direction before looking away.

     "So," Hunk says from the couch, "when do you start?"

 

     

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, and I'm sorry it's kind of sucky. I'm new to writing, and I've been kind of thinking of this in cinematic mode. I realized that writing out how a song is supposed to sound, and especially the whole atmosphere that was supposed to be created when they all played together was extremely hard, which kind of messes up literally the whole plot of this. On another note, I need an editor because I cannot revise for shit, so if anyone wants to take literal time out of their day to fix my millions of mistakes, contact me! My tumblr is the same as my username here, so idk figure it out i dont know how things work. Anyway, I hope you liked it (even just a little bit is enough for me) and I hope this added a little more insight to the entity of this story. If you want to truly understand how the audition went down, read it while listening to the actual (original) song called "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" by the Beatles from their White Album. Whatever you do, don't listen to the new version on their VEVO and YouTube. (It actually sucks) I understand it will be harder to find but please please please try because it makes so much more sense and it's awesome.  
> I love all of you! Thank you for dealing with me and my sucky story. I hope can keep this going at a better rate than before


	3. The Beanless Bean Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day on the job, and on the hunt ;) {for Lance's booty that is}

**Songs for this Chapter~**

**Feeling Good by Nina Simone {Feeling Good is more commonly known by Michael Bubble but he didn't make the song until 2003. It doesn't matter which one you listen to, they are similar enough that it doesn't make much of a difference in the chapter.}**

Keith wakes up for the first time in a good year feeling excited and giddy. As soon as he awakes, he jumps out of bed, ready for the day. His body is not prepared for the advancement, though, because as soon as he is on his feet, his legs get tingly and weak and he falls to his knees.

     "The fuck?" Keith curses. "I didn't even drink last night." This was true. As soon as the audition for the jazz band ended, Keith, instead of celebrating at the nearest liquor store, drove straight home and started researching jazz music until he met bed at a reasonable hour, (10:30 pm.) It was the first time in a long time that Keith had been so responsible. Most of his nights were alcohol based and filled with tears until he passed out, only to not remember much the next morning. Keith cringes at the memories.

     Keith shakily stands up, his sea legs finally cooperating with him, and he makes it to his bathroom. He takes a shower in a quick amount of time. Keith realizes that this habit might not be that sanitary, as Keith is used to skipping shampoo and conditioner from not caring, and decides to go back in and thoroughly clean himself a second time. Once out again, he dries off and gets dressed, at first picking something at random before reconsidering and deciding to pick out something nicer than a wrinkled Nirvana shirt and jeans with stains on them. He picks a dress shirt that Rolo had gotten him when they went to his sister's wedding, and some khaki's that he doesn't remember buying. Keith brushes his teeth and runs his hands through his hair until it looks somewhat normal.

     Feeling brand new, Keith grabs his keys from his nightstand, glaring at the receipt and the note from Nyma, and heads for the door. As he opens the door, he glances at the mirror on the other side of the small room.

     He looks into his eyes, the windows to the soul. He looks for that glimmer, that light, that he sees in everyone else. He feels better now. He feels brand new, right? He didn't drink last night. He got a job. He's happy.

     Is he?

     He looks straight into his pupils, his irises, the whites of his eyes. Searching for any sign of life at all.

     Nope, still dead.

~

Keith walks into Atomic Altea feeling confident. He had always been up for a challenge, always too stubborn to let go of one. _I suppose that's what got me into this mess,_ Keith thinks. Although, was this really a mess? Keith hasn't felt this less of a mess in a long time.

     The Atomic Altea was surprisingly empty. There was only one guy there, sitting alone at the bar, drinking a beer and staring at the pictures on the bulletin board. Is that what Keith had looked like only a few nights ago?

     Coran comes from the door leading to the kitchen, asking the guy if he would like another drink. Keith seemed like it would be best to talk to him first. He felt most comfortable with Coran, knowing him the best out of the new people in his life, if only having known him for a few days. Coran seemed like the person who would never judge you, no matter what you did. He would always smile and laugh at your silly behavior, but he would never make you feel alienated. Keith wished more people were like Coran.

     "Coran!" Keith calls as Coran gives the man another bottle.

     "Keith, my boy!" Coran calls back, excitedly. His response only made Keith feel more at home, bringing a soft smile to his lips uncontrollably. "I heard you got the gig! How was it? Was Lance mean to you?" Coran narrows his eyes at this last question, as if he was making sure he wouldn't have to scold Lance later.

     "Um, no," Keith nervously laughs. "He wasn't very lenient on me singing anything other than jazz, but I guess he came around, because here I am." Keith chuckles again, and he reminds himself that laughing too much is weird and he should stop. 

     But then Coran snickers as well, and Keith smiles again, his fears of being socially incompetent melting away. "Yes, Lance barely ever listens to non-jazzical music." Then Coran leans in really close to Keith, shielding his mouth from lip readers or eavesdroppers with one hand, as if he was gossiping. "I think he needs to go onto _My Strange Addiction,"_ he finishes intensely.

     They both immediately burst into tearful fits of laughter, causing the man cradling his beer to jump. "Fuck!" he shouts, spilling some beer onto his shirt. This only makes the odd couple laugh more. The man gets a little freaked out and decides to leave, heading out the door with a bewildered face and grumbling about the Australians and their conspiracies.

     Pidge finds the two with their hands on their knees, out of breath from laughing. "What the hell?" he asks.

     "'Australians and their conspiracies..'" Keith wheezes.

~

Keith and Pidge sit in the bar stools, them and Coran being the only ones left in Atomic Altea. When Coran had asked if they wanted anything to drink, Pidge asked for a Ginger Ale and Keith, a Ginger and Tonic, only for Pidge to elbow him in the stomach and tell him he can't be drunk on stage.

     "When are we getting on stage anyway? Where is everyone?" Keith questions. He had thought that right from the get-go they would be at least rehearsing for the performance they were going to present to the packed bar. Once he got here, the place was empty and not even half the band members decided to show up.

     "We got a long time before we're on stage, man," Pidge says, taking a swig from the green can.

     "What? I thought... I don't know..." Keith sighs. He had been planning everything out for today and nothing was happening. "I thought we were going to be doing... _something."_

     "Oh, we are," Pidge confirms. "Just not right now."

     "Why not?" Keith asks, exasperated.

     "Uh, because it's 10 in the morning?" Pidge says in an are-you-dumb-or-something-way. This is why Keith liked people like Coran better. Right now he felt embarrassed and stupid, all because of the tone Pidge used.

     "Do you not own a watch, my boy?" Coran asked, drying a glass with a white rag. Keith shook his head, humiliated. Rolo had worn one, and he was always with Rolo, so he never found the need to buy one. "You can have one of mine," Coran offers, setting down the glass and fiddling with the clasp on one of the many watches on his arms. This was the first time that Keith realized that Coran was wearing about 10 watches all together. How had he missed that before?

     Coran manages to take off one of the many watches and hands it to Keith, who reluctantly takes it. Pidge snickers at his shocked state. "Yeah, Coran has been stuck in the mid 80's for the past 15 years."

     "I am not stuck! Swatches are still very stylish!" Coran defends himself.

      All three of them laugh.

~

Keith can't remember the last time he was this happy. It was a simple action, sitting and talking and laughing. Yet, it made him feel like nothing bad could happen now. He felt like he had known these two all his life. He connected with them in the goofy way that elementary school friends do, the only similarity between them being that they like to play.

     "Ow..." Keith whimpered. His cheeks hurt, yet he couldn't stop smiling and laughing. "Pidge make it stop..." he begged.

     Pidge squished his cheeks together, making his lips pucker out. "You look like a fish."

     "Blub," Keith answers. They all laugh until their lungs give out.

     "What the _fuck_ is going on here?" a sassy voice says from behind. They turn around to find Lance and Hunk at the doorway, Lance with his hand on his hip and Hunk twiddling his thumbs. "Having fun without me?" he teases.

     "Of course not, oh great Queen of Fun," Pidge rolls his eyes before jumping off the stool and running to give them a hug. Keith wanted to join, but it didn't feel like his place. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be getting Lance to love him and suddenly found the whole situation awkward.

     They all headed to the door that led to the band room. Lance opened the door, collapsing straight onto the couch in the middle of the room. He sets his head onto the top of the couch, exposing his long, tan neck. Keith feels blood rush to his face... and other places. "Okay, let's introduce Keith to _La Sala de Los Mojitos,"_ he says, stretching out his arms and doing some variation of a gesture to the room and jazz hands, all while never lifting his head.

     "First of all," Pidge starts, "it's called the Mojito room because it's the only place in Atomic Altea that you can drink Mojitos."

     "It's a great use of a pick up line. 'Hey, want a Mojito? Well there's only this one room where you can drink them. Why don't you come with me?'" Lance chimes in.

     "Over there is the storage room where we keep the instruments we don't use as much," Pidge continues, rolling her eyes. "It has a green handle. That door goes to the stage, it has a blue handle. And that door goes outside to the back alley. Yellow handle. Don't mix them up."

     "Then the star of the show," Hunk concludes excitedly, "the Beanless Bean Bag!" He gestures, his palms up, to the bean bag, presenting it to Keith proudly. "Oh, hi, Shiro." The violinist, the huge, muscled man who had comforted Keith the earlier day, was laying face down on the empty bean bag, looking just about dead. He had thought of alerting the police, looking at the walls for a phone to use, before Shiro responded, "Hi, Hunk," his voice muffled by the synthetic leather.

     "You were here the whole time? Why weren't you out socializing with us?" Pidge asks, crouching beside the corpse.

     "Maybe I don't _want_ to socialize."

     Pidge chuckles and stands up. "Shiro is a little dead inside."

     "A lottle, Pidge. A lottle," Shiro corrects.

     "That's his safe space. It used to be filled, but one time we threw it off the building on a dare and it fell on a broken bottle in the parking lot. We were able to sew it back together, but the beans were so widely spread on the pavement that we just gave up, took a leaf blower, and blew them all out into the road. They could never prove it was us, so we never got charged for the 3 car accidents the beans caused. Ever since then we keep it as a metaphor. The bean bag and Shiro are one and the same."

     "Empty inside," Shiro clarified.

     "Okay, team." Lance got up from the couch and started to regroup the band. "In a few hours we're on stage so let's rehearse." Keith glanced down at the watch Coran gave him, and realized it was 11:45, just about time for the drunkies to start flooding in. "I have selected a playlist-"

     "Actually-" Keith interrupted. "I- um.."

     "Yes?" Lance asked, and though his words were usually sarcastic or playful or sassy, his question was genuine this time. He looked straight into Keith's eyes, and they told him that he wasn't judging him, or making fun of him. They were ocean blue. He really wanted to know what was on his mind. This reassurance gave Keith confidence.

     "I actually... wanted to try a song that I picked out?" He asked, still a little afraid of the response. "Don't worry, it's jazz," he added quickly. He reached into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out folded up sheet music.

~

2 hours later and Keith was starting to get cold feet. What if he messed up? What if the audience didn't like him? What if they realize that he actually isn't that great of a singer and they decide to let him go? He doesn't want to do this anymore. He's too scared. He wants to say no but soon he's on stage and the lights are on him and a microphone is in front of him and his lame khakis are in front of everyone where they can all see and the soft violin starts and there is no going back.

     " _Birds flying high, you know how I feel._ " His first line is shaky, he can hear it in his voice. He wants to stop now before he embarrasses himself. " _Sun in the sky, you know how I feel._ " Then he looks to the pianist and their eyes meet, his gaze reassuring and sweet. Ocean blue. " _Breeze driftin' on bye... you know how I feel_." He could do this. " _It's a new dawn._ " He liked singing, he was good at it. " _It's a new day._ " He felt good when he sang, when he was with these people. " _It's a new life... for me._ "

     He was going to do this. He was going to pay off his rent. He was going to get Lance to fall for him.

     He was going to win that goddamn bet.

     " _And I'm feeling..._ "

     He was going to be happy again.

     " _Good._ "


	4. Denny's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has to go through initiation at a local Denny's

**Songs for this Chapter~**

**Money by Pink Floyd**

**Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground**

**Love Child by Diana Ross and the Supremes**

"Let's celebrate!" suggests Hunk, jumping up from the couch in the Mojito room. 

     "Just no drinking," says Keith. He had skipped his normal drinking routine yesterday, and today he was feeling better than usual. He felt like he was making progress. He wasn't sure what progress, but he didn't want to move backwards by falling off the wagon. 

     "What a coincidence, I think I know just the place," said Pidge with a mischievous grin. "It's time to pretend like it's 3 am and we're leaving a prom after party because it's time for Denny's bitches!" The others whooped and hollered as he raised his arms above his head as if in the middle of a battle cry.

     "Denny's?" Keith asked skeptically.

     "No way," Lance said, staring at his incredulously. 

     "You don't know what Denny's is?" Hunk asked.

     "Um, no?" Keith said. "Is that some kind of Floridian thing?"

     "Dude it's an _American_ thing," Pidge said.

     "I'm telling you, he's an illegal immigrant," Lance whispered to Hunk.

     "I'm from Texas not _Timbuktu,"_ Keith countered.

     "Okay, whatever," Lance said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway let's go. You have a lot to learn, Cowboy."

     They followed Lance out the yellow handled door into the parking lot after walking down a narrow back alley. Lance fished his keys out of his pocket and walked up to a beat up grey Honda Civic, jamming the key into the door handle and eventually opening it before opening the rest of the doors using a button on the inside of the driver door. Keith was a little perplexed by this, as he had never had a car, and though he had been in his father's car he was too young to understand the small things. All the remembers is that one pedal makes it go and one makes it stop and the steering wheel changes direction. He had gotten so used to using a motorcycle, and walking more recently, that cars seemed new and weird to him, though common to just about everyone else.

     "I call shotgun!" Pidge shouts, running to the passenger door.

     "No, Pidge, we need your smallness to make everyone fit in the back. Shiro has to be in the front seat," Lance corrects him.

     "Too late!" he teases. Pidge then slides into the front seat, clicks the seat belt into place and crosses his arms over his chest, giving the rest of the band a sly grin.

     It was, indeed, too late. No matter how hard the team pushed and pulled on the tiny creature, no matter what strength and energy they used and drained, he was immovable.

     "Fuck you, Pidge," Shiro said, taking out a cigarette from the pack of camels in his back pocket and passing the carton to Lance. "That seat was my sanctuary; my only _solace_. I'm not going back to the busted window and the nicotine patches, Pidge."

     "I thought the Beanless Bean Bag was your solace," Keith points out.

     "That is my _Mojito room_ safe space, Keith. Right now, I need my _car smoke_ safe space. I need a fucking _working window to smoke, Pidge._ " Shiro says through grit teeth.

     "I guess you'll just have to deal with it, hm?" Pidge says, condescendingly. Shiro's eyes narrow and his jaw sets in a way that most would think would be too much pressure for the teeth to handle. Lance lights his own cigarette and tosses the lighter and the camels to Shiro.

     Lance lowers himself into the driver's seat, putting the key into the ignition and turning the engine. The Honda softly roars to start, sputtering a bit along the way. Shiro grumbles and gets into the back seat, telling Keith to get in the middle. Hunk gets in on the other side.

     Lance presses a button and the familiar sound of cash register dings, coins falling, and guitar floods into the car. "Ew," Lance says, moving to change the station.

     "No, wait!" Keith intervenes. "I like this song." Lance opens his mouth to argue, but then looks into Keith's eyes and sees his pleading. He closes his mouth and turns back to the windshield, starting to back up the car.

    _"Money, get away. Get a good job with more pay and you're okay._ "

     "Fuck this," Shiro snaps. "You're all getting second hand smoking." He pulls out the cigarette he was holding onto and the lighter from Lance. After a few high clicks the fag is lit and he's puffing away inside the car. The trees and the buildings started to blur, but the sky stayed the same for the most part.

     _"Money, it's a gas. Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash."_

     Rolo had smoked, so Keith was used to the constant surrounding of cigarette smoke. When they had first broken up, Keith would relish smelling the apartment and the bed sheets that they used to share because it smelled like cigarettes; it smelled like Rolo.

    _"New car, caviar, four-star daydream. Think I'll buy me a football team."_

     Hunk, however, was not dealing with it so well.

     "C'mon, Shiro," he coughed.

     " _Money, get back. I'm all right Jack keep your hands off of my stack."_

     "Thank Pidge," Shiro responded straight forward.

     "Oh, thank _me_ for your smoking problem, oh, sure, Shiro," Pidge back lashed, turning around in his seat to argue with him.

     _"Money, it's a hit. Don't give me that do goody good bullshit."_

     "Shiro, my asthma," Hunk whined, pleadingly.

     "Sucks to your ass-mar."

     "Shiro!" Pidge scolded.

     The car lurched to a sudden stop, sending Keith forward, the only one who wasn't wearing a seat belt.

     "Dear Lord, shut up!" Lance shouted. All the while this was happening during the car ride, Lance had stayed cool, quietly smoking and keeping his eyes on the road. I gess everyone has their breaking points, though. Lance quickly turns into the nearest parking lot of a shell gas station while the car behind him honks at us. "Pidge, you're being a little bitch. You know that Shiro gets like this when he doesn't smoke and you still choose to deny him the opportunity to safely smoke without hurting the others in the car. Shiro, you have a problem. We both do. We gotta stop smoking, man. You know it. Actually, hand me your fag." Lance held his hand out to Shiro.

     "What?" Shiro said, disbelieving.

     "We're quitting today. Hand me your fags."

     Shiro reluctantly reached into his back pocket and slowly pressed the pack of camels into Lance's hand. After Lance continued to stare at him, he handed him the cigarette he was using as well. Careful not to burn himself, Lance takes Shiro's cigarettes and his own and tosses them out the window. He then opens the car door and quickly stomps on them a few times to make sure they're out.

    "Hunk," Lance says, finally turning to the concluding sequence of the accomplices in the fight. "You don't have asthma. Stop telling yourself you do."

    "Just because I'm not diagnosed-"

    "Oh, you are diagnosed, Hunk. You're self-diagnosed, and that's the root of all evil," Lance says matter-of-factually.

    "I thought money was the root of all evil," Keith chimes in for the first time in the entire car ride.

    "You really think that such a complex and delusional thing as evil only has one root?" Lance asks rhetorically.

     _"Money, it's a crime. Share it fairly but don't take a slice of my pie."_

     Lance pulls out of the parking lot and starts driving back on the normal route.

     _"Money, so they say. Is the root of all evil today. But if you ask for a rise, it's not surprise they're giving none away. Away, away, away."_

     Keith couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he saw Lance tapping his index finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the song. The thought made him smile.

     _"Away, away, away."_

_~_

Denny's was a lot shabbier than what Keith had imagined. The restaurant itself was nice, with red booths lining the walls and wooden chairs and tables in the middle. There was even a white counter top with matching stools, though Keith was pretty sure that they didn't sell alcohol. The entire place reminded him of Atomic Altea with a different color scheme, different background music, and while A.A. smelled like fruity vodka, Denny's smelled like eggs. 

     Keith actually liked the music that Denny's was playing when they first walked in. The place was empty, which was fairly normal because as Pidge had informed him, the normal crowd showed up around 3-5 am while it was only 4:37, (as shown by Coran's watch.)

     _"And I've had to much caffeine and I've been thinkin' 'bout myself and then there she was; in platform double suede. Yeah, there she was; like disco lemonade."_

     Keith recognized the song as a song Rolo's friend Maxwell had told him about a long time ago. He remembered liking it, and it was still as good as it was the last time he heard it.

     "Oh!" the waitress, who had popped up from behind the counter, says, surprised.

 _"Who's that loungin' in my ch-"_ The waitress reaches for the boombox on the corner of the counter and pops out the cassette currently playing, a disappointment to Keith. She searches underneath the counter for a few seconds before popping in a different cassette.

     The new song that played sounded like a 1960's disco bop, meant to be family friendly for all the stoners and chain smokers that spent their time in a Denny's. 

     _"Listen, baby, ain't no mountain high enough;"_

     It was an okay song, but Keith felt like he would much more prefer the songs that the waitress had earlier played.

     "I'm sorry, no one comes in at this time," she explained, picking up a notepad and a pen to take our orders. "Are you ready?"

     "Yeah, do any of us actually want any food?" Pidge asked, looking at all the band members. Keith's stomach cramped, and he remembered he hadn't eaten anything all day.

     "Um, yeah?" Keith said, getting a bit annoyed. "Isn't that why we came here?"

     _"To keep me from gettin' to you, babe."_

     "Of course not. Denny's food is toxic. No offense," Pidge apologized, turning to the waitress. She only shrugged in response. "We come here because 1) no one comes here and those who do are too high to function, 2) they have killer milkshakes, and 3) because of tradition. Those are the sacred 3 reasons, which can not be broken, undermined, nor changed." 

     "Well, I'm hungry. I need a burger, please," Keith said. The others ordered milkshakes. Once the waitress left, Hunk's eyes trailing after her, Keith asked, "So what 'traditions' have taken place in this majestic Denny's?"

     "Okay so the story is," Pidge starts, lowering his voice. "One night after a show, we all stumbled in here high as fuck, ate 20 hamburger all together, then dine and ditched. Now, it's tradition to always dine and ditch every time we come here."

     "What?" Keith choked.

     "Don't tell me you don't know what dining and ditching is," Lance says, exasperated.

     "Yes, I do, in fact, know what it means and I also happen to know that it is very _illegal,"_ Keith stage whispers. "How have they not recognized you yet?"

     "Honestly, luck," Lance explains. "Every time we come here, there's a different server, and I guess none of the past ones have cared enough to report us because there aren't any wanted dead or alive posters around."

     _"Shut up!"_ Keith quickly scolds as the waitress comes back with a burger and a milkshake in hand.

     She sets them down on the table before turning around to get more. Once she comes back, she stands in front of the table, with a hand on her hip, pointing to the name tag on her shirt. "I'm Shay, by the way. Forgot to get you earlier, but it's like, hospitality policy or something."

     "Don't worry about it," Hunk answers. She giggles and turns around to go back behind the counter.

     Keith quickly devours the burger, taking only a few minutes to leave only crumbs on his plate. As soon as he finishes, the 60's song finishes, only to be replaced by another 60's song.

     _"You think that I don't feel love, what I feel for you is real love;"_

     "Okay, Keith, time for initation!" Lance declares excitedly. He jumps up from the booth and takes Keith by the hand, leading him to the center of the restaurant, where there seemed to be a cleared space.

      "Are we a sorority, now?" Keith asks. Lance's hands were soft, long and slender, like every pianists' hands. His tan skin contrasted against Keith's generally pale tone, which was littered with freckles that Lance didn't have. Maybe he did, and you just couldn't see them.

     _"We_ are a sorority. _You_ have not been initiated yet, Cowboy," Lance grins.

     "So what do I have to do?"

     "You have to prove what it takes," Pidge says, popping up from behind him, nearly making Keith scream. "We all did it. We had to present our best performance and present our best talents in the worst conditions."

     "Didn't I already do that during the audition?" Keith asks.

     "You proved you could sing, but not in the worst conditions. On stage, drunk people will shout at you, throw things at you, even come on stage themselves and try to sing along. You have to prove that you can do that," Lance explains. "You sing, so you're going to have to sing one of these terrible disco songs while we try to distract you. 1, 2, 3, go!"

    "What? I-"

    "Sing!" Lance says, urging him on.

    _"So afraid the others knew I had no name,"_ the women sang from the boombox. Next to it, Shay leaned over the counter, her hands under her chin, watching with an amused smile.

    "I don't know the lyrics," Keith explained.

    "But you know the tune," pointed out Pidge. "Improvise!"

    "Um," Keith started, trying to imagine how the versed would play out. _"We'll only end up hating the milk we may be shaking,"_ Keith tried, at least.

    _"Love child, never mean to be,"_ Keith remembered from earlier, singing along. _"Love child, not from this reality."_

    "Boo!" Pidge shouts. "Distractions!"

    _"I knew the way it was to be empty inside."_

    "Whoop!" Shiro cheers. 

    _"The Beanless Bag was my enterprise! Love child, never meant to be."_

    Lance started taking straws and making spit balls out of napkins, shooting them at Keith and getting them on his khakis. Then he got this look on his face as if he had come up with the greatest idea, you could practically see the light bulb glowing over his head. Lance's face got smoother, his lips curling into a mischievous smile as he slithered towards Keith, his bed room eyes transfixed on Keith. Keith could feel the sweat bead down his neck, unsure of what to expect.

    _"I'll always love you,"_ the women sung in the background. _"I'll always love you-hoo-hoo,"_

    Lance slipped his hand into Keith's, pressing his body up against the other man's, his breath hot against Keith's cheeks. _"I'll always love you,"_ Keith tried to sing along, unwilling to give into the siren's song. Lance's other hand came up and caressed Keith's neck, holding him like they were closer than band mates. Were they closer than band mates? He barely knew the guy, but he was supposed to be seducing him in the next 6 weeks. Now it seems that the tables have turned.

    _"I'll always love you,"_ Keith repeated, trying to stay in control of the situation. Lance started rocking him back and forth, slow dancing with him to the disco music. Keith was starting to let go with the current, resting his head on Lance's shoulder, but still singing along, not ready to give up on everything yet. _"I'll always love you, love child."_

     Lance presses his lips to Keith's ear, and whispers, "I've won."

    Immediately, Lance let's go of Keith, who loses his balance and falls to the floor. The band starts laughing, Keith quickly trying to regain balance and stand up. He feels like locking himself away and crying forever. How could he be this foolish? How could he let his guard down? He felt so humiliated because of this man he was supposed to be playing! He was supposed to be the one at the end saying, 'sorry, I never loved you, I just needed quick cash.' Keith wanted to curb stomp this bitch.

     Keith doesn't say anything, but instead, walks straight outside and into the Denny's parking lot, sitting on the curb outside instead of breaking someone's teeth with it. He sits there for a few minutes, trying not to cry and keep his mind blank. He didn't want to think about anything or anyone, especially not Lance.

    A few minutes later, Lance follows him outside, sitting next to him, as if he was going to apologize.

    "Pidge said that technically, since you kept singing even through my distraction, you passed initiation, which I call bull shit on-"

    "Was it real?" Keith asked.

     "Hm?"

     "Was the... the _distraction..._ was it real?" Keith repeated.

     "No, you're not my type."

     Fuck.

     All of this was a waste. Lance would never love him. He wouldn't be able to pay off his rent or pay back Nyma or be able to feed himself anymore. He had already lost the bet and the first week wasn't even over.

     "Ok."

     There was a pause between them, unlike an awkward silence or a dull in conversation, but a specific moment when there was really nothing else to be said. Keith didn't pay attention to how long it lasted. He felt like the beanless bag.

     "Hey, we ditchin' this bitch or what?" Pidge asks, once again, appearing out of nowhere, but not frightening Keith as much as last time.

     "Oh yeah, is everyone out here?" Lance asked, standing up from the curb and grabbing his keys from his back pocket. They all filed into the car in silence, the excitement of dining and ditching not there like it had been the other times that they had done it.

     "C'mon guys, she seems really nice," Hunk says.

     Lance turns around and looks straight into Hunk's eyes when he says, "Hunk, if you go inside and get her number right now, we will stay and pay for the food." There was a moment of silence where Hunk realized he was defeated and sunk back in his seat. Lance brought the car to life and they were out of the parking lot in seconds, speeding down the mostly empty road.

     Keith looked back to the Denny's and saw Shay walk out the front door, peering after their car speeding into the distance. Keith wondered what she was thinking right now. "What if she writes down the license plate?" Keith asks.

     "Don't worry, I don't have a license plate."

     At this point, it didn't seem all that unbelievable or out of the ordinary. Nothing about this band was ordinary. Keith realized he stopped caring back at the curb. "How have you not gotten pulled over yet?" Keith asked.

     "I honestly have no idea."

~

When Lance dropped Keith off at his house around 6:46, Keith felt like nothing mattered anymore. He didn't take off his spit-ball stained clothes before he collapsed onto his bed made for two, and fell asleep fairly quickly. Everything is going downhill. It seemed like they were getting better, like he was getting better, but now everything he wanted seemed so out of reach. He didn't want this anymore. He didn't know if he wanted it at all in the first place.

     The singing was good and the band members were funny. Coran made him feel safe and Lance was pretty hot. But in the end, he was never going to get what he wanted. He knew from the start that the goal he had was impossible to achieve. He would never amount to anything. Rolo had told him this all the time. How could he have forgotten the truth behind it? Why didn't he just listen to Rolo?

    Keith fell asleep in tears.

******   
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was heartbreaking to write. I'm so sorry.


	5. Emo(tional)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is emo for a bit

**Songs for this chapter~**

**Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones**

When Keith woke up, he wasn't sad anymore. He was angry. 

     What right did Lance have to mess with people like that? Keith wasn't his _type?_ Mother fucker Keith was _everyone's_ type! Keith was the one who was supposed to be humiliating Lance. He was supposed to be making Lance fall for someone who doesn't give a shit about him. Lance might be hot, but his heart was black.

     Black.

     Keith got an idea.

~

"Keith!" Lance called as soon as Keith had arrived at Atomic Altea. The place was packed, deeply contrasting the state it was in when Keith entered yesterday. Keith had decided to come later, at around 4:00 pm instead of 10:00 am like last time, because he gives no bothers.

     Lance shot up from his seat at the bar, speed walking towards Keith, who waited at the door, making him walk all the way instead of meeting in the middle. Lance grabbed his forearm, pulling him closer before whispering sternly, "where the _fuck_ have you been?"

     "Um, I have a life," Keith answered, pulling his arm away from Lance's grasp and crossing his arms over his chest.

     "Oh, yeah, sure," Lance mocked sarcastically.

     This comment only fanned Keith's fire, who pushed Lance to the side and walked past him to the Mojito room, ignoring Coran's concerned look from the bar.

     "Keith, you made it!" Hunk exclaimed excitedly once Keith showed up.

     "Yeah, yeah, okay let's go," Lance hustled them along. "I was thinking we could do some old songs we already know, since we don't have a lot of time thanks to Cow-"

     "Actually I have a song already," Keith interrupted, beginning to hand out the sheet music.

     "This isn't jazz," Lance rejected once he read the title. "And we don't have time to learn a new song-"

     "Actually, I know this song," Pidge smiled. "Hunk, remember band camp?"

     "Oh yeah, we would play rock anthems instead of the boring stuff they taught us," Hunk continued, reminiscing. "Was that the same one where Jonah threw that napkin dispenser at you in the cafeteria?"

     "Yep! I still have the scar from the stitches!"

     "Well, I'm not playing," Lance said defiantly. "It's not jazz, and if you haven't noticed, _Keith,_ we're a _jazz band."_

     "OK," Keith shrugged. "The song doesn't have piano in it." Lance's jaw dropped. "Is everyone ready?"

     Keith didn't feel the nervousness that he had felt the first time he sang. He wasn't sure if that was because he was used to it by now, or if he just didn't care anymore. All he knew was that he felt like punching someone, specifically Lance, and this was a way to get back at him, even on it's small scale. He took his wallet out of his back pocket and set it on the Beanless Bag so that he wouldn't lose it on stage. Keith had always been a little paranoid. He still isn't really sure why.

     Shiro had to have the sheet music in front of him while he played, but Keith had faith that he knew his instrument well enough that he could sight read even on stage. He did seem a bit jittery today, which Keith was still having trouble figuring out. Shiro played the opening melody perfectly, the best intro to lead to Hunk beating the drums viciously.

     The song was upbeat, and it matched with Keith's angry heart. He looked down at the outfit he had chosen for today, which was much unlike the one he had worn the day before. He'd picked some t-shirt off the floor, which he now recognized as an Oasis tour shirt, which used to be Rolo's. He had on his regular blue jeans, and didn't look like he was from a jazz band at all.

     Keith saw a glass of some clear liquid, probably from the table closes to the stage, where five friends sat, laughing with each other. He reaches down while the group distracts each other and takes it, sipping the burning drink before setting it on the unused piano. Keith doesn't feel good, like he did yesterday before Lance tricked him, but he felt more like himself.

     _"I see a red door and I want it painted it black."_ Keith sings, looking straight at Lance in the back of the bar, glaring at him with a Bloody Mary in his hand. _"No colors anymore, I want them to turn black."_

     Keith sort of danced while he sang, unlike the day before, where he stared into the crowd and drifted away, standing still. He was moving, walking to different parts of the stage and thrashing his head side to side, his long hair becoming tangled.

     _"I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes,"_ Keith sings, and the weekly sorority girls cheer, their shorts and dresses contradicting the fact that it was December, because they don't have a seasonal change in Florida. _"I have to turn my head until my darkness goes. I see a line of cars and they're all painted black. With flowers and my love both never to come back."_

     Keith directs this at Lance, still brooding in the corner, though he may not understand or recognize this.

     _"I see people turn their heads and quickly look away; like a new born baby it just happens everyday."_

     What Lance didn't know was that Keith never let go of things. He was mad at Lance. He was mad at Nyma, and Rolo, and Pidge, and Shiro, and the girl kissing her boy friend, and the guy laughing with his friends. He was mad at almost everyone right now.

     He takes another swig of the mystery drink.

     He was mad because he was broke, and owed too many people money. He was mad because his only way out was blocked now; he was mad that Lance didn't like him and was cruel. He was mad because he can' go back and change things and listen to Rolo and keep him with Keith; convince him to stay. He was mad because he still loved Rolo and Rolo didn't love him back anymore. He was mad because he was a terrible person and he needs to change, but he was too stubborn to do it then and too stubborn to do it now.

    _"I look inside myself and see my heart is black-"_ Keith's voice cracks, and he feels his eyes well up with tears. _"I see my red door I must have it painted black."_

     How was he going to do this? How was he going to fix this?

     _"Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts!"_ Keith shouts. _"It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black!"_

     Keith wanted to break Lance. He wanted to make Lance feel like he does, rejected and unlovable.

     _"No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue. I could not foresee this thing happening to you."_

     Keith glances back to Lance, and sees a smug smirk make it's way to his lips.

     _"If I look hard enough into the settin' sun, my love will laugh with me before the morning comes!"_

     Fuck you, Lance. Keith takes another swig.

     _"I see a red door and I want it painted black. No colors anymore I want them to turn black."_

     Keith is tired. He feels exerted, like he just ran a marathon or had a long talk with relatives.

     _"I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes. I have to turn my head until my darkness goes."_

     Keith downs the rest of the drink and tries to hum the melody, like he remembers in the song. With every empty verse he can feel the tension rising. 

     "I wanna see your face painted black!" Keith shouts. "Black as night, black as coal. I wanna see the sun flying high in the sky. I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black." Keith tries to hum the rest of the song but stops caring and walks off stage.

     He falls onto the couch as soon as the blue handled door closes, and the door coming from the bar opens. Lance's face is red, and it reminds Keith of a Burnt Santana shirt he has at home.

     "What the fuck was that? You just left them up there?" Lance shouts.

     "The rest of the song is instrumental," Keith says, checking his watch. It's 4:12. 

     "I can't-" Lance sputters. "I can't even-" He throws his hands up in defeat.

     "Shut up," Keith sighs.

     "Excuse me?" Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.

     "You heard me, fucker," Keith replied. 

     Lance scoffed. "You think you can just- just _waltz_ in here, and change everything up that we've had going for _years-"_

     "Oh yes, I don't do a jazz song and now I'm 'changing everything up'-"

     "We are a _jazz band!"_

     "Well maybe you shouldn't be!" Keith yelled, exasperated. "God, you're so fucking _addicted_ jazz, like you won't even _listen_ to anything else. What the fuck made you so- so fucking closed minded?"

     "That is _none_ of your fucking business," Lance fumed, looking at the ground, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

     The stage door opens, and Lance jumps up from Keith like a frightened cat.

     "Has Lance murdered you yet?" Pidge asks.

     "He couldn't," Keith answers, making Lance shoot him a look.

     "Let's celebrate!" cheers Hunk.

     "Hunk, we are not going back to Denny's just so you can stare at the waitress," Lance scolds.

     "If you don't recall, we're wanted criminals," Shiro reminds him.

     "I don't understand why we keep doing that anyway," Hunk continues. "We aren't broke. We can certainly pay for _Denny's."_ _Speak for yourself,_ Keith thinks.

     "First of all, it's _tradition,"_ Pidge explains. "Second of all, don't use that tone when talking about the glorious place that is Denny's. Third of all, that reminds me, Coran gave me the paychecks for these last weeks." He walks over to the storage room, shuffling through it until he emerges with 5 envelopes. "We get paid every 2 weeks, by the way, Keith."

     He handed one to everyone, including Keith. "But I only did two days," Keith says.

     "Yeah, Alfor's chill," Pidge answers.

     "Um..."

     "The dude that owns the place."

     "Oh, ok."

     Keith opened the envelope, finding 5 $20 dollar bills. "Holy shit," Keith whispers, checking to make sure he counted correctly. He quickly took out the money and put it in this wallet, placing it back _underneath_ the bean bag this time.

     "Fuck," Pidge says, his head back in the storage closet. "I don't have anymore picks."

     "We need to keep playing," Lance pipes up. "Keith, can you go get him more picks?"

     "I thought we needed to keep playing," Keith contradicts.

     "Yeah, and we can manage a few songs without you," Lance clarifies. Why was Keith surprised? Lance didn't want him around anyway.

     "Oh, while you're out I need more rosin, too," Shiro says.

     "You need _what?"_ Keith asks. 

     "I'm pretty low on drum sticks actually, Keith, could you pick those up too?" Hunk asks.

     "I don't even know where I'm going to get all this stuff," Keith complains.

     "Opus Music Warehouse, it's downtown, next to the Butter & Cream Ice Cream Inc." Lance answers immediately. "You can take my car." He tosses his keys to Keith, who only barely manages to catch them. He had never had very good hand-eye coordination.

     "Ok, then," Keith sighs. "Catch ya later."

     "Bye, Keith!" Hunk calls as Keith walks out the yellow handled door into the parking lot.

     As soon as the door closes behind him, Keith mutters, "Fuck you, Lance." He was practically shoving him out the door. If Lance wanted him gone, he should have just told him. And he had lied to him about something? Keith was the one who was supposed to be lying all over the place! Keith was tired of being the one being played tricks on. He was tired of being in the dark all the time.

     Keith inspected the keys, trying to figure out which one went to the car he was supposed to be driving. The key chain was a Spongebob figurine, which Keith internally applauded. There were about 5 keys total, but none of them had any kind of indication of which one was for the car. Keith sighs, realizing he'll have to try each of them until he find one that fits.

     After Keith manages to find the car and open it, he tries to remember what Lance told him. "Downtown, next to that ice cream shop," Keith mutters to himself.

~

     It took Keith about 3 hours to find Opus Music Warehouse. Apparently there is an east _and_ west downtown, and there are about 4 ice cream shops in each. "Fuck you, Lance," Keith mutters as he pulls into the parking lot of the music store. It had already taken him long enough to figure out the tiny parts of the dashboard on the car. He knew how to drive, and he had a driver's license, but it had been a while.

     Lance probably just wanted Keith out of the way for a while. God. Keith couldn't stand the guy. How was he supposed to put up with him for 6 weeks? Forget even trying to get him to like Keith, Keith wasn't sure he could like Lance enough to even pretend to love him.

     Keith sighs as he pushes open the glass door and hears the little bell on the handle. "Hello!" says a cheerful woman behind the cash register. She was tall and thin, and while her face looked at most, middle aged, her hair was completely white, which contrasted greatly with her darkly toned skin. She was beautiful, but she had wisdom behind her eyes. "Welcome to Opus Music Warehouse!" Classical music played overhead, and Keith couldn't tell where it was coming from. He didn't see any kind of stereo or record player around the store, besides the ones that were for sale.

     "Hi," Keith says flatly. He was so exhausted, and it wasn't even 8 o'clock. "Do you have... um..." What did they want again? Pidge wanted picks, he remembered that. Hunk wanted drum sticks, which is easy. Shiro wanted something weird though, Keith had never heard of it before. Roses? Row-ins? "Goddamn it, do you have a phone?"

     "Oh, um," the cashier was caught off guard. Keith felt bad for being rude, she seemed like a friendly woman, but he was so fed up with everything that had gone on today. "Yeah, in the back on the right," she says, throwing a thumb over her shoulder.

     Keith walks past her, finding a yellow wall phone on the right side of the hallway. He picks up the phone, lifting his finger to press in the numbers, before coming short. He slams the phone back in the receiver before walking back to the cashier. "Phone book?" he smiles at her, trying not to seem like a total jerk.

     "U-um," she stutters, seeming a little frightened, or perhaps just suspicious. "Yeah," she replies, shuffling underneath the counter in a cabinet containing mostly music books. She emerges with a large yellow book, which Keith checks is dated after 1990.

     "Thanks." Keith opens the book to the front, where the A's are. He finds the number fairly quickly, repeating it over in his head to remember it.

     He goes back to the phone, punching in the number slowly before the ringing on the other end starts.

     "Atomic Altea, how can I help you?" a familiar Australian accented voice greets him.

     "Hey Coran, can I talk to Shiro?" Keith asks unceremoniously.

     "Oh, of course," Coran says before what Keith thinks is the noise of the phone being placed on the table.

     Instead of Shiro's voice coming on, a shrill, almost childish voice comes instead. "Where the fuck are you, Keith?" Pidge asks. "My fingers are getting calloused. _Calloused, Keith._ No, Shiro-"

     "What do you want, Keith?" Shiro asks, probably having fought Pidge for the phone.

     "What did you want again?"

     "Rosin, Keith. It's not that hard to remember," Shiro sighs.

     "Don't fucking test me, Shiro," Keith says, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "What the hell is a rah-zin?"

     "Are you at Opus?"

     "Yeah."

     "Then ask the fucking clerk, you moron," Shiro says before hanging up.

     Keith takes a few deep breaths, trying not to punch a hole in the wall.

     "Excuse me," Keith says when he gets back to the cashier. "What is a rah-zin?"

     "Oh, um, it's like wax for a stringed instrument's bow," she clarifies. "Are you learning to play a stringed instrument? I can give you some pointers-"

     "Yeah, I need some rosin," Keith cuts her off, not in the mood for small talk. "And some drum sticks and some guitar picks." 

     "Well," the cashier says, clearly fed up with Keith's attitude. "Musical appliances are over there," she says, pointing to the left of the store vaguely. "You," she drops the phone book back into the cabinet, making a large boom that ripples throughout the store, "can get it yourself."

     Keith turns on his heel and starts walking towards the part of the store she pointed to, mad at himself for being rude to her but too stubborn and angry to apologize. He finds the sign hanging from the high ceiling of the store labeled, "Musical Appliances," and turns to walk down that isle. He immediately is able to pick out drum sticks and guitar picks, but has trouble finding rosin, as he still has no idea what it looks like or how it is used.

     _Wax for a violin bow,_ Keith reminded himself. That means it comes in a jar, right? Hair wax came like that, he thinks. Maybe a can, not a jar. However, Keith couldn't find jars or cans on any of the shelves in the isle.

     Keith sat down, leaning against the shelf containing plastic recorders, tired of walking up and down the isle. Keith let his eyes go unfocused, and he realized how much he hated this. He liked singing, but he didn't really _love_ it. It wasn't his burning passion, his dream, like it was for the other band members. Then Keith realized that he didn't really know if it was their dream. He barely knew them. He liked being around them, most of the time he laughed a lot and he had fun. But there seemed to be some kind of underlying upset that all of them had. They were always upset with each other, and even when it was playful they always seemed to fight. 

     Keith was so tired of this. He didn't want to do this bet anymore. He felt like he didn't have any control over his life now.

     And that's exactly why he couldn't drop out of the bet or leave the band. This was the only job he could get right now, and he needed the bet money to pay off his rent on time. Getting $100 all at once seemed exciting at first, but getting it every 2 weeks was not going to pay off his debt in time.

     Keith let his eyes focus again, only to be met with an orange box on the shelf on the other side of the isle labeled "ROSIN" in big letters while everything else was small. Was that how "rah-zin" is spelled?

     Keith picked up the box to inspect it closely, and found that he words above it was actually the picture of a bow that looked exactly like the one that accompanied Shiro's violin. Keith sighed with relief, picking up the picks and shoving the drum sticks under his arm pit while he walked back to the cashier confidently. _I didn't need your help, anyway,_ Keith thought. _So, jokes on you, Lady._

     "Back so soon?" the cashier asks, setting down the book she was reading. She was clearly still annoyed with Keith.

     "Sadly," Keith shot back as he set down the small box of rosin, the tin of guitar picks, and the drum sticks on the counter. She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't respond as she scanned the items he brought to her.

     "That'll be $37.90," she said, leaning against the counter with her elbow.

     "Sure thing," Keith said passive aggressively, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. His fingers came in contact only with the smooth edges of a Spongebob figurine and the cold metal of the keys. He reaches into his other pocket, his right arm stretching against his back almost painfully. The other pocket is empty. Keith starts panicking, patting his front pockets in search of it as well.

      Keith feels tears well into his eyes, the stinging feeling in his eyes kind of distracting him. He checks his back pockets again, and then the front pockets again as well.

      Then he remembers where he left it. "You fucking moron," Keith says to himself, putting his face in his hands. "I left it under the Beanless Bag!" Keith lets go, allowing the tears stream down his cheeks and his nose run onto his lips. "You fucking idiot," he says, softer.

     Then he feels a warm, soft hand, grip his arm, pulling him away from the scene, even though he was pretty sure he was the only one in the store. The cashier pulls him down into the hallway and onto the floor.

     "It's okay," she says, her voice soft and assuring.

     "No, it's not!" he tells her. "It's not okay because I have to make Lance fall in love with me in 6 weeks or else I lose the only money I have left to this girl I don't even know why I'm friends with and we can't stand each other and besides that I have no idea how I'm going to do that because he literally out right told me that I wasn't his type and I need the money to pay off my rent or I'll get evicted and the band we're in is so unhappy with each other and I've gotten myself into this situation that I can't get out of and I don't want to do it anymore and I left my wallet under the Beanless Bean Bag and I need to get this stuff back to the band because Pidge's fingers are callousing!"

     "Calm down," she says, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "You can take the stuff back to your band. Pay me back later."

     "But-"

    "Shhh..." she interrupts him. "I trust you. Look, it sounds like there's no other way to get out of this besides playing along. Wait here."  She got up, leaving Keith to wallow in pain for a bit.

     She came back with what Keith thinks was the book she was reading earlier. She pushes it into his hands, and he tries to read the cover, though his vision is blurry behind the tears. 

      _"Creating Attraction by Christian Carter?"_ Keith reads aloud.

     "Yeah," she confirms, sheepishly. "I bought it when I was a girl, and I still have it, just in case someone like you comes along. It's not 'How To Make Someone Fall In Love With You 101', but it's a start. I know that it sounds like this will be hard, but it'll work out in the end. I believe in you."

     She smiled at him, and for a minute he really did truly believe that she was right. It was going to work out. He had help, now.

     "I'm sorry I was mean to you," Keith says, wiping away a few tears with the palm of his hand.

     "Oh, Honey," she says, cupping his cheek again. "I understand. I've raised a little boy and I've seen him grow into a man like you, and still, sometimes he gets stressed and lashes out at those around him. You sound like you have a lot on your plate, too."

     Just knowing that she wasn't angry with him, and understood why he was like this, made Keith want to cry again.

     "Thank you, so, so much," Keith says, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his nose into her neck. She smelled good, like the natural, indescribable scent that some people give off without the help of cologne.

     "It's no problem at all," she answered before letting go of him and standing up. He followed her out into the open part of the store, where she gathered everything she was giving him and putting it into a small plastic bag with the store's logo printed onto it. "Come back anytime if you need help with anything. If Zak's here instead of me, tell him to call Honerva and I'll be right over."

     "I'll come back soon," Keith says as the little bell on the handle chimes. "I'm paying you back tonight!"

~

Keith pulls into the parking lot quickly, at the expense of almost hitting 3 other cars that were also parked. He bustles in through the yellow handled door, finding the rest of the band in the Mojito room, lounging around.

     "Keith!" Lance shouts, shooting up from his position on the couch and swerving around to look at the door.

     Pidge looks up from his chair in the corner. "Holy shit, dude, you were right this time." He stands up too, and cracks his back. "Got my picks, asshole?"

     Keith tosses him the plastic bag, which he catches with the grace of a hippopotamus. Keith then turns to the Beanless Bean Bag and lunges for it like a hungry leopard on the hunt. He grabs the bag and throws it to the side to find his wallet sitting exactly where he remembers putting it.

     Shiro opens the door to the bar with a Mojito in hand. "Keith, what the fuck, dude. That's my seat," he says, annoyed, before recognizing the important part about this situation. "Holy fuck, Keith, you're not dead."

     "Yeah, after the 4th hour went by, we got a bit worried," Hunk clarifies.

     "Not worried enough to call the police, though," Pidge says proudly, as if this was another tradition of theirs. Keith wondered how many of the band's traditions included breaking the law.

     "Mama didn't raise no snitch," Shiro adds.

     "Keith!" Lance yells again. "Where in the bloody hell have you been?"

     "When did you get British?" Pidge asks.

     "I don't have time to explain, okay?" Keith says, stuffing the wallet into his back pocket and opening the yellow handled door again. "I need to go pay back Honerva."

     "Shit, Keith, you didn't get a stripper, did you?" Shiro asks, setting his B.B.B. back into it's rightful place before ceremoniously shoving his face into the synthetic leather on the floor. "I'm not gonna judge but you should really pay them upfront. Pimps are not people you want to have debts with."

     "What? No, trust me, I promised Honerva I'd pay her back tonight, I need to go," Keith explains.

     "Oh, hell no, sister," Lance says. "You are not running off all by yourself and disappearing for another 7 hours. I'm coming with you."

     3 hours ago, Keith probably wouldn't be able to handle being alone with Lance in a car without killing him. However, talking with Honerva, whether it be for as short as the conversation was, cooled Keith down. It made Keith realize what was important right now. Right now, it didn't matter how annoying and obnoxious Lance would get. In the end, Lance was the key to getting himself out of this mess. He needed to win him over, and yelling at him and being broody and mad was not the way to do that. Keith needed to get Lance to at least think he is attractive at this point; Honerva said that was the first step. He could do that. Keith could be sexy during a 6 hour road trip. On the inside, Keith still had a burning passion to rip Lance's guts out, or at least publicly humiliate him a little; but his desire to eat and have a roof over his head was more motivational.

     "Keith, why the fuck is _Creating Attraction by Christian Carter_ in here?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this story is all over the place. {tfw you know the beginning and end of the story but haven't figured out the middle yet lmaooo}


	6. Car Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> road trip time! (half of this chapter was deleted because my computer is 7 years old and I didn't feel like rewriting it for like 5 months and I still dont feel like rewriting it so im probably going to rewrite and add the rest next year.)

**Songs for this chapter~**

**Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by Nancy Sinatra**

**Put Your Head on My Shoulder by Paul Anka**

**Chattahoochee by Alan Jackson**

**Jolene by Dolly Parton**

"Wait!" Pidge called to them dramatically from the door. "To quote the Angel of the Lord from 1 Kings 19:7, 'Arise and eat, because the journey is too great for thee!'" He then held out a box to Keith and Lance. "Take the sacred mix tapes to accompany you." After taking the cardboard box from him and handing it to Lance, Keith speed walked to the car, Lance closely following behind him in tow, jamming the various keys into the slot, hoping that one of them would fit.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Lance asked, looking amused at Keith's struggle.

"I'm trying to open your trash car, that's what I'm doing, Lance!" Keith yells at him, throwing the keys at his chest. Keith sighs. He already went back on his word. How was he ever going to get Lance to love him if he was constantly getting angry with him? God, if he would just stop being such a selfish, condescending shit, then everything would be easier for Keith. Of all the people for Nyma to assign to Keith for this dumb little bet-

"Keith, it's okay," Lance says, putting his hands up in surrender, using the same reassuring tone that Honerva had used to calm Keith down earlier. "Look, this key has H.C. carved into it via Pidge. It stands for Honda Civic," Lance says, leaning over and pointing to the engraving on the key to show Keith. Then, to demonstrate the key's full potential, Lance shoves the key into the car's handle and opens it with ease.

"Oh," Keith chuckles. "I guess I should have noticed that earlier, huh?" Keith felt a little embarrassed, but not in the real hurt, humiliated way that he had felt when Lance slow danced with him at the Denny's. He felt a little bubbly, as if something funny had happened.

"It's not like they're your keys," Lance says, hopping into the passenger's seat. "If I hadn't known they were there I probably wouldn't have figured it out either."

"Are you suddenly being really nice to me because you're tired or something?" Keith asks, only half-joking.

"No," Lance laughs as Keith slides next to him in the driver's seat. "I think I'm just overly glad that you haven't been murdered and found in a highway ditch because I sent you out to get rosin."

"Yeah," Keith replies dryly. Keith did not want to tell him that this trip to get rosin had actually helped him in the end. He did not feel like giving that satisfaction to the guy.

Keith pulls out of the parking lot, peeling onto the mostly empty road that soon led to the Florida Turnpike. Lance turns on the car radio, and Keith, at first, expects to hear the cash register ring and the sound of coins falling, but instead is met with a smooth, kind of sad bass line.

"God, this is such a good song," Lance says, turning the little knob that controls the volume.

_"-always laugh and say, 'remember when we used to play?' Bang Bang, I shot you down. Bang Bang, you hit the ground. Bang Bang, that awful sound. Bang Bang, I used to shoot you down."_

"It sounds... a bit morbid," Keith says. He realized the sky got darker, and he turns on the headlights in order to see well.

"It is," Lance confirms. "It's about this woman's husband leaving her without an explanation."

"Fun."

"I mean, Paint It Black isn't all that much better," Lance smiles. "Isn't it about this dude going insane or something?"

"No," Keith says. "It's about this dude falling into a depression after his wife dies."

"Oh," Lance says. He turns his head and leans his head against the window, looking out into the night. Did Keith say something wrong? Did something hit too close to home? Keith frowns to himself. Why does he care?

Maybe because my literal livelihood depends on this guy not thinking that I'm a jerk, Keith thinks.

_"Now he's gone, I don't know why. And 'til this day, sometimes I cry. He didn't even say goodbye, he didn't take the time to lie. Bang Bang, he shot me down. Bang Bang, I hit the ground. Bang Bang, that awful sound. Bang Bang, my baby shot me down."_

~

_"Put your lips next to mine, dear. Won't you kiss me once, baby. Just a kiss good night, baby. You and I will fall in love."_

"Paul Anka," Lance whispers. "Really hot in the 50's, not so much 40 years later."

They had been on the road for a while now, though Keith could not really tell how long. Lance's car did not have a clock on the dashboard. Then Keith remembered that he had a watch, thanks to Coran, and he turned his wrist to see the time. 11:46 pm. Keith was sure they had left at about 11, so they still had about 2 hours ahead of them. Keith sighed; he was starting to get a bit tired.

Keith snorts. "Oh, really?"

Lance sits up. "Have you not seen his album covers? A literal God among men. And that voice," Lance swoons. "But, he's old enough to be mi abuelito and I'm pretty sure he's rich enough to buy 20 of us."

Keith smiles, happy to see that Lance is not sad anymore. "At least he had his time."

"No kidding," Lance replies. "He was basically the Justin Timberlake of 1950; except he didn't have the rest of N SYNC holding him down."

"Put your head on my shoulder, whisper in my ear, baby. Words I want to hear. Tell me; tell me that you love me too."

"You know who N SYNC is?" Keith asks skeptically. "I thought you only listened to jazz."

"Allura forced me to listen to it when she was with us. I put up with it, but I never liked it. I did, however, acknowledge the potential that Justin has if he dropped the dead weight."

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this," Keith teases. _Who is Allura?_

"I'm telling you, give it 10 years. Justin is going to come out on top and the rest of them will be selling hot dogs in Orlando."

"That's a bit excessive. They're still going to be famous, even if they aren't as famous as Justin," Keith says in rebuttal.

"Okay then, tell me this, Keith," Lance says, turning down the volume on the radio so that they could hear each other better. "Besides JT, who are the members of N SYNC?"

Keith thought about it for a minute, trying to search his mind for any kind of name that related to N SYNC. He tried to remember album covers, perhaps someone talking to him about the members. Newspapers, posters, TV... "Um..." Keith stalls.

"Exactly," Lance says smugly, lifting his chin in victory. "No one even knows their names."

"I'm sure someone does," Keith rolls his eyes. "Besides, they probably get enough money from N SYNC that even if Justin takes off and leaves them in the dust, they'll have enough money to live off wonderful lives well above the middle class."

"Unless they become cocky teenagers and spend it all over the span of 3 years, thinking that more will come in the future," Lance says. "And there won't." He turns back to the window solemnly. Out of the corner of his eyes, Keith sees Lance rest his chin on his hand and his elbow on the door.

The silence in the air was thick, but in a way in which it became awkward so quickly, no one had noticed until everyone stopped talking. How did this happen? They were just talking and joking about a boy band a few minutes ago. Keith was tired of the constant ups and downs that Lance exhibited. Rolo was always the same person, no matter what situation. He was easy. Lance was so complicated. Everyone in this dumb band was. He could not wrap his head around how someone could have so many different sides of their personality, so many sides that contradict and contrast, yet fit together to make a human mind.

For the first time, Lance and Keith seemed to have a normal conversation, a silly conversation that young girls would have with each other; talking about the future of celebrities. They seemed to be bonding; Keith thought he was making progress with him. For the first time, they had an actual discussion that did not involve the band, or fighting about each other, they were just talking about trivial things like friends.

In addition, Keith was enjoying it, he was not annoyed, or angry, or feeling bad about himself. He was having fun, and it was distracting him from the God-awful trip that Keith was taking to pay back Honerva. He was tired of driving, or thinking. He felt like he had been doing it for days, which was not that far off considering this was the 7th hour of driving Keith had done in this day alone.

God, Keith was so tired.

The loud pierce of a car horn stabs the silence in the air as if it was a betraying lover.

"Shit!" Keith shouts, swerving the car out of the lane he had drifted into. He then lift his foot off the accelerator, causing the car to abruptly stop without braking.

Lance, who wasn't wearing a seat belt, having forgotten to pull it on in the frantic speed that Keith was determined on leaving the parking lot, jolts forward, throwing his hands in front of himself to control the damage.

His hands slam into the dashboard, his fingers pressing the scan button accidentally, switching the soft jazz to turn into loud acoustic guitar and accented singing.

_"-We laid rubber on the Georgia asphalt, got a little crazy but we never got caught."_

The car behind the Honda Civic skirts to a stop, having not seen Keith stop because the brake lights had not come on, for Keith did not hit the brakes. They do not stop fast enough, though, and hits the back of the car, sending it forward on the highway, making Lance thank God that Florida was so flat. He would not have known what to do if they were, say, in Georgia, where they would probably be speeding down a hill in the Piedmont region by now.

The surge of movement forward makes them jolt again, Keith slamming his forehead into the steering wheel, having not put his hands out to catch himself, like Lance. They rolled forward, the red lights of the car in front of them coming closer and closer.

"Brake light! Brake light!" Lance yells at Keith, hoping that he had not passed out.

_"Way down yonder on the Chattahoochee, never knew how much that muddy water meant to me. But I learned how to swim and I learned who I was, a lot about livin' and a little 'bout love."_

Keith pressed his foot onto the left pedal as hard as he could, hearing the high screech of the brakes. The cars around them stopped as well, and Keith saw, in the rear view mirror, a woman get out of the car that honked at Keith on a car phone.

"Fuck," Lance says, looking out of the back windows at the same woman. "She has a car phone? We gotta dip, Keith."

"What? I literally just caused highway mayhem," Keith explained. "We have to take responsibility."

"Um, no, we don't. If that bitch has a car phone, she definitely got enough money to pay for the damages that don't see on her car," Lance says, peering out the window again, his hand on the back of Keith's seat to turn far enough to see. "And I don't have insurance."

"Oh shit," Keith says, seeing the woman start to walk up to their car as the other car doors start opening and more people get out of their car.

"Dip, son!" Lance tells him as the woman says something else into the phone, squinting into their car, as if trying to see what they look like.

_"So I settled for a burger and a grape snow cone. Dropped her off early, but I didn't go home."_

Keith lifts his foot off the brake and floors it. The car rushes forward and Keith has to swerve around the car he almost hit straight on only seconds earlier and onto the newly empty road, the rest of the cars involved in the incident falling behind them in the distance.

As soon as Keith thinks that they are far enough away from the scene of the crime, he turns off onto exit 31 and into the McDonald's. Immediately after pulling into a spot and putting the car in park, Keith takes the keys out of the ignition and throws them into the back seat. He presses his face into his hands and rests his head against the steering wheel.

"Well," Lance says. "That was a doozy, wasn't it?"

"We, legitimately, could have died," Keith says into his hands.

"Oh please," Lance says. "Every day that you live you could die."

"Yes, however, you have a much higher chance of dying when you get into a car accident than just sitting at home watching- Family Feud or something!" Keith shouts at him. How was he being so dense? How was he not terrified of what just happened?

"Um, I'd like to see your sources on that," Lance says, inspecting his fingernails.

"Fucking-" Keith presses his head face into the steering wheel, wondering how much force he would have to put into it to kill him. "Common sense? Maybe?"

"Hmm..." Lance says, rubbing his chin with his index finger and thumb as if he was trying to remember what the word meant. "Never heard of it."

"Yeah, I can tell."

"Rude!"

Keith groaned into his hands. How did he ever think that this was going to be a good idea?

"Look," Lance says, his voice suddenly genuine. "I know that you're scared. What just happened... was a lot. It's hard to deal with. I understand." Keith lifts his hands from his palms. When he looks into Lance's eyes, he sees something he had not seen before. He could not place what it was, but it made him feel safe, like when he was with Hoverna, or Coran. "But you have to remember why we're doing this. Honerva sounds like she means a lot to you. You wanted to pay her back, right? And you promised her you'd do it tonight. I don't want to push you, but we have to keep going."

Keith takes a few deep breaths and sits up straight. "Okay," he says slowly. "Okay, we can do this."

Lance smiles at him, and it makes Keith feel like he did something good, even though he just agreed to stay in the car. "We can just sit here for a bit if you want to. And I can drive, if you want," Lance offered.

"Yeah," Keith says, taking his offer and slouching in his seat, feeling more relaxed than before. "I'd like that."

Therefore, they switched seats and Lance turned over the engine again, and the radio turned on.

_"-Jolene, Jolene, please don't take him just because you can."_

"How did this change to a country station?" Lance asks, laughing at the woman's accented voice.

_"But you don't know what he means to me, Jolene."_

"I think you hit the radio when that car ran into us," Keith suggested. The song sounded a little familiar, and Keith's ears perked as he tried to listen, eventually deciding to turn up the volume.

_"Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, I'm beggin' of you please don't take my man."_

"It sounds like it has a story," Lance added. "It wasn't like that last one about the Chattahoochee River."

_"You could have your choice of men, but I could never love again."_

"I liked it."

"Don't tell me you like country music."

"I'm from Texas, Lance."

"There are no excuses for that kind of lifestyle."

_"He's the only one for me, Jolene."_

"It's kind of sad that 'the only one for her' likes another woman," Lance says, beginning to back the car out of the parking space in the McDonald's.

"Yeah," Keith agrees. "It's really sad, actually."

"I guess all the meaningful songs are always a little sad. The hard times are easier to remember and relate to than the good ones," Lance adds.

_"I had to have this talk with you; my happiness depends on you, and whatever you decide to do, Jolene."_

Keith glances out of the window like Lance had done earlier. The sky was so dark that he could not see anything other than his reflection in the glass.

_"Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, I'm beggin' of you, please don't take my man. Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, please don't take him just because you can."_

"I wonder what Jolene did," Keith thinks aloud as the song ends.

"I'd like to think that she did the right thing and stopped seducing him," Lance says.

"But what if she loved him? What if she wanted him just as much as the woman singing did?" Keith questioned. "Would it not he be right thing to do to make the man let go of the woman singing so that he could be with Jolene, who he really liked, and who liked him back? If she did as she was asked, the man would be unhappy, Jolene would be unhappy, and the woman in the song would be in a broken relationship where the man would probably cheat on her in the near future."

"I guess that's what's wrong with the song," Lance replies. "We don't know Jolene's side of the story. We don't know if she was really pursuing the man because it was a challenge or if she actually loved him. We just assume she was being selfish because it's from the woman's side of the story."

"That's what's wrong with life," Keith corrected him. "We only see things from our perspective; we don't try and walk in Jolene's shoes before we ask her to make a life-altering decision."

"Humans are fucked up," Lance says before pressing the scan button again. "Okay, no more existential crisis inducing country songs."

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fiction, so give me a break. I know it's short, I know it's not that good. I swear it gets better. I'm hoping this will update regularly, but I have school and I can't tell the future Please stay until the end- I know exactly where I want this to go, I just need to get there. Enjoy! (I hope)


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